Written in the Stars
by GobiToby
Summary: Against the backdrop of a dogfight, a pilot discusses how he came to be one, and why he loves to fly.


The Pilot-Written in the Stars

Disclaimer: I do not own Starcraft, which is the property of Blizzard Entertainment.Therefore, any items or groups that appear in this fic that relate directly to Starcraft do not belong to me, and are being borrowed for the duration of this story.However, the plot, and the exact sequence of words, are mine.

Written in the Stars 

"022314, docking clamps withdrawn, self-power initiated.Weapons check okay.Proceeding with mission.Intercept with enemy squadron in 5 minutes."

I always loved to watch the stars.I'm not sure exactly when I first fell in love with them, but some of my earliest memories were of me walking with my father, hand in hand, through the fields outside of our house, watching the night sky unfold before us.I must have picked it up from him-even though his government position demanded that he spend much of his time in the city, my father bought a house out in the rural farm areas so the light wouldn't spoil our starwatches.He taught me every single constellation in the sky: The Serpent, the Skybeast, even the more obscure ones like the Doorknob and the Sapphire.Once he bought me an ancient book from Earth just to show me that the stars weren't the same in all parts of the galaxy.Even after my mother died, and the demands on his time became even greater, he always found time to stargaze with me on the weekends.

"Copy, Tango leader.Moving into position.010138, drop back .3 kilometers and hold position over my wing.Keep a watch on the portside; my sensors have been spotty in that area recently.Outer wing, keep clear of the planet's gravity well.Base, intercept with enemy squadron in 2 minutes."

I guess I was lucky that I was free to pursue my love with the night.As I grew older I would spend hours laying in the grass, just contemplating a life among those points of light.I never was very social, and so the stars became my friends.They would listen, and sometimes, I thought they could even respond.It was my desire, and my destiny, to spend the rest of my life in space, amongst the stars.

"Copy, Base, activating signal jammers now.010138, we've got a second squadron coming up at oh-three-five.Keep a watch on their position-we don't want to be caught unprepared.Copy, Tango leader.Locking onto wing fighter now.027181, pull in and stay tight-we're going to be passing pretty close to that cruiser.Base, intercept in thirty seconds."

When I was old enough, I joined the Confederate military.Father never thought that was a good idea, but he knew that more than anything, I wanted to live with the stars.My performance in both school and the placement tests were good enough to get me accepted not only into the Academy, but also into the prestigious Advanced Pilot program.The times of training were difficult, but always rewarding.The military discipline came easily enough, although not perfectly-I suppose when your father works with military officials as his job, that sort of thing comes naturally.I did pretty well in class, too; while I was not at the head of the class, I did well enough to gain recognition throughout the school.But it was in flight training that I made my mark.The AP program adheres to the old-fashioned school of training-no VR simulations until the pilots have logged at least 50 hours of flight time in a real craft.This is where I excelled; to me, nothing could be more beautiful than to fly with the stars, experiencing life as they felt it, soaring through the galaxy with no direction other than their own.The instructors chastised me regularly for bending the rules of the training exercises, but I didn't care, and I suspect that they saw that my lax care for rules came not as delinquency, but true love for my art.

"Diverting energy to weapons systems.Reactor output at maximum.Base, intercept in twenty seconds."

And that was what it was, art.The stars sang to me while I guided my ship through their depths, their voices ringing clear and strong through the deep thrum of the antique reactor and the pinging of the aging hull plates.When we began combat training, I was unequalled in a dogfight-it was as though I could feel, on some subconscious level, the tides and flow of the energies which make up our universe.They say that some humans are able to hear the thoughts of others, and sometimes even bend those others to their will.Maybe I've picked up some of that, whatever it is, or maybe there's something entirely different for pilots.The universe is a strange and wonderful place.

"027181, pull in tighter-we can't afford to lose any coverage in that area.Copy, Tango leader.010138 and I will fly spread cover. Base, fifteen seconds."

I graduated with honors and was placed in the Wraith pilot program, an elite position which less than two percent of all pilots qualify for in their entire career.The Wraiths are excellent craft, significantly more advanced than the old Gryphon trainers that we flew in school, and they fly the most prestigious, most dangerous missions for the Confederate star fleet. It was in the cockpit of my Wraith, designation 022314-Tango, where I was at home.My Wraith was not a number-it was part of me, and every time I flew I became that craft, becoming what I had dreamed of as a child.Completely in control of my destiny.I rarely spent time aboard ship when I had a choice, and the times I did were mostly spent in my quarters, gazing at the universe around me.

"Ten seconds.Good luck team."

My combat experience with the Wraiths was pretty limited—at least inside the Confederacy's borders Wraiths were mostly used as a show of force to defuse a situation before it exploded into actual conflict.In times of peace like this, we rarely ever had to deal with anything more than pirates preying on civilian transports or the occasional hotshot salvager who decided it was easier to create salvage than find it.But that changed with the rebellion.The Sons of Korhal were the largest threat to the Confederacy since its inception.Their soldiers are our equals, and they seem to grow stronger even as we wipe out their bases.I always felt twinge of regret when I read the battle reports; to me, fighting over the galaxy spoils its beauty, and make us forget why we ever came out here in the first place.I flew and fought because I was told to, and because I loved being among the stars, not because of delusions of grandeur.

"Engaging enemy."

Flying in combat is incredibly dangerous, but nowhere have I ever become closer to the stars than from that situation.Like the flow of molecules and atoms colliding and fusing in a young star, so does a dogfight become chaos, with no orders given and none followed.It is the song of the stars that keep me alive in this sort of situation, their voice guiding my hand along a track impossible to calculate or comprehend.This sort of exotic opera, and my understanding of its melody, has kept me unharmed and the original coat of paint on my Wraith.

"Missiles launched.Deploying flares and chaff.Transferring power to fire control, engaging with cannons.Watch it 010138, missile at 7!027181, cover Tango leader.I'm pulling evasive.Base, report, Charlie leader destroyed.Copy-001101, pick up my wing!I've got tails!"

Every good Wraith pilot I've met feels the same way I do.We look different on the surface, but deep down in the core, we're the same person.We just express it differently.That's why I've always been afraid of the day I would fight pilots of my own caliber-we all think the same and fight the same.My fate would rely on luck, and whether I was ready to join the stars for all eternity.

"I'm cutting over to the cruiser.027181, stay high and keep out of that atmosphere!Hold it, pick off those tails, they've got a lock on me!Base, report, 022314 reporting with probable loss of function imminent!"

The stick jiggles in my hand, the whine of the engine cuts in and out, and the flash of my cannons mark my course through this chaos as I follow those words that have guided me through my whole life.Even the flash of my port wing vaporizing and the ear-shattering squeal of my reactor going into overload comes as no surprise.

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A little boy walked through the field, intently watching the night sky as it unfolds over him."Look, daddy!" he shouted, tugging on his father's hand and pointing at a streak of light as it flies by overhead."A shooting star!When I grow up, I'm going to be just like that!"The father reached down and fondly patted his son's head, reading the night sky as if seeing into the future.

"I'm sure you will, son.I'm sure you will."

END

A/N:Well, this is my first fan fiction.Tell me how it went, but no flames please.Give me honest advice on how to improve my writing.Some concepts I have borrowed from other stories, most notably the Wing Commander movie and I, Jedi by M. Stackpole.


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